


Crime and Punishment

by SpenceRose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age play-ish, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry John, Bruises, Caring John, John is a Very Good Doctor, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Spanking, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock likes to be spanked, Spanking, i guess, then it becomes consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5718571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpenceRose/pseuds/SpenceRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you're going to behave like a child, then I'm going to treat you like one."</p><p>John is sick of Sherlock's attitude and decides he needs to be punished. Sherlock doesn't expect to like it so much. If only he can make John do it again...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Apologize?” Sherlock said. Much too like a snot nosed brat, John thought. “Why should I apologize to Mrs. Hudson?”

“Just go apologize, Sherlock,” John shouted, almost visibly shaking. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up to walk to his desk.

“She knows I mean no harm,” he stated. John's eyes narrowed and he stood up, beginning to undo his belt.

“Alright, fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “If you're going to act like a child, I'm going to treat you like one.”

“John, what are you doing?” Sherlock asked, beginning to put the pieces together. John didn't answer as he pushed Sherlock over the desk. He grabbed Sherlock's hands behind his back as he struggled. “John, please stop.”

“I wish I could say this was going to hurt me more than it'll hurt you but I'll be enjoying it too much,” John said. 

_ THWACK! _ Sherlock jumped as the belt made contact with his backside. 

_ THWACK!  _ “John, please!”

_ THWACK!  _ “John, I’m a grown man! This is ridiculous.”

_ THWACK!  _ “You don’t act like a grown man,” came the reply.

_ THWACK!  _ Sherlock gave up on trying to reason with him.

_ THWACK!  _ He tried to think of a way out of it but his mind was drawing a blank.

_ THWACK!  _ He struggled against the hand John was using to keep him pinned down but it was in vain.

_ THWACK!  _ He tried to kick at him but John just stepped back without releasing him.

_ THWACK! _ He jumped. That one was harsher than the others. Probably for trying to kick him.

Sherlock waited for another one but it didn’t come. He frowned, mentally counting how many he had gotten.1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9…

_ THWACK!  _ 10\. He rested his head against the desk as he felt John let go of him. He needed to analyze how he felt about what had just happened. He slowly stood up and his hands remained behind his back as he stared at John with wide glossed eyes. John didn't seem to notice as he put the belt back on.

“Now, go apologize to Mrs. Hudson,” he said as he buckled the belt. Sherlock blinked. His mind was racing too fast to comprehend what was coming from John’s mouth.

“What?” he asked. John looked up at him sternly. 

“Go apologize or there'll be ten more,” John ordered. Sherlock nodded dumbly and swallowed. 

“Right,” he said, turning to the door. John raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off. He sat back down and picked up his newspaper. Several minutes later, much longer than it should take to apologize, Sherlock came back into the flat. He cleared his throat, gaining a look from John.

“I'm hungry,” he said. “Let's go out.”

John raise an eyebrow. Something was off.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” he asked. Sherlock didn't answer as put on his coat. John put on his own and then grabbed Sherlock's arm. Sherlock looked at the hand and then at him. “I'm sorry. You were just getting on my nerves.”

Sherlock swallowed and cleared his throat before answering.

“It's alright, John,” he said. “It got the results you wanted, didn't it?”

“Well, yeah, but…” he began. Sherlock licked his lip.

“Then I'd say it was a successful experiment,” he said and he could have sworn his own voice had dropped an octave.

“Right,” John frowned, letting go of him. “Experiment.”

They walked down to the street and Sherlock started walking. John stopped by the street.

“Shouldn't we get a cab?” he called. Sherlock winced internally at the thought of sitting. But not because it would hurt, he realized. He turned to John.

“It's a lovely day for a walk, John,” he said.

“Sherlock, it's windy as hell and it's going to start raining soon,” he frowned. Sherlock cursed at himself.

“If you want to get a cab, then we can,” he said, walking back to John, who already had one waiting. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat but his gaze remained on his phone, hoping John didn't sense his discomfort.

“Sherlock, you seem, I don't know, like you're in pain,” John said. Blast his perceptiveness. 

“I'm fine, John,” he said. “I'm just still on edge from earlier.”

“Sure,” John mumbled, looking out the window. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You're much stronger than you look, John,” he said, making the other man look at him in confusion.

“What?” he asked.

“You managed to hold me down with one hand and spank me at the same time,” he continued. He licked his lips. “While I was struggling, no less. You are much stronger than I perceived.”

“Uh, thanks,” John said, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. He wasn't sure but he thought that Sherlock was blushing. He turned to look out the window and Sherlock shifted in his seat again. Before they reached their destination, Sherlock got a text from Lestrade. 

_ We’ve got a case. _

A smile made its away across his face. John raised an eyebrow, a strong sense of foreboding overcoming him. Sherlock told the cabbie the address and leaned back.

“Does Lestrade have something?” John asked.

“Oh yes,” he answered gleefully. “Finally, something to do.”

They reached the crime scene and Sherlock couldn’t get out of the cab fast enough. He was already talking to Lestrade by the time John had paid the driver.

“We’re not sure how the body got here, considering the fact that the nearest source of water is a half empty water bottle,” Lestrade was saying as he got up.

“May we see it?” John asked. Lestrade nodded hesitantly and led them over to it. Sherlock crouched and pulled out his magnifying glass. He began examining it and stood up suddenly. 

“John, why don’t you have a look,” he said, walking around to stand next to Lestrade.

“Okay?” John said slowly, walking over to examine it.

“Are you okay?” Lestrade asked, turning to look at him. “You’re walking a bit oddly.”

“I’m fine,” Sherlock said, not looking at him. Lestrade’s eyebrow rose.

“You know, if you and John are…” he began. Sherlock turned to him harshly. 

“I said I'm fine,” he snapped. Lestrade put his hands up.

“Sherlock,” John snapped. Sherlock turned to glare at him. His resolve waivered when he saw John's face. It was the same expression he had had at the flat just before he…

“Alright, we're going to take this body to the morgue,” Lestrade said, glancing between them. Sherlock's curiosity got the best of him.

“Shut up, Lestrade,” he snapped. “I can feel myself losing IQ points.”

Lestrade stared at him with his mouth agape and John's fists clenched. He walked forward and grabbed Sherlock's arm.

“We'll call you if we figure out anything,” he called over his shoulder as he flagged down a cab. He forced Sherlock in and directed the cabbie to their flat.

“What had gotten into you today?” he yelled. “I know you haven't had one in a few days but that is no excuse to behave like this.”

Sherlock just crossed his arms and stared out the window like a vexed teenager. John threw  his hands up in resignation.

“Fine, you're a child,” he said. “Well, I know how to deal with this.”

Sherlock hid his smile but digging his chin in his scarf. So far, the experiment was working quite well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this part in class. Thank God no one sits near me.

They got into the flat and Sherlock took off his coat only to have John grab his arm and drag him to the desks. He was bent over them with his arms behind his back again as John pulled his belt out single handedly. Sherlock squirmed, half attempting to get free and half eager for it. 

“Are we always going to do it over my desk?” he asked, proud of how bored he sounded. John didn't answer. The belt came down and Sherlock jolted against the desk. That first one was very hard. He looked over this shoulder at John, who had a dead expression on his face but there was slight curl in his lips and a furrow in his brow that suggested he was really riled up. The belt came down again.

Sherlock cried out as they they got to six. John let up after that until they reached ten. John stepped back and Sherlock stood, hands behind his back and staring at the ground. 

“Now, call Lestrade and apologize,” John said. Sherlock raised his head slightly as John put his belt back on. When he didn't move, John looked up at him sternly. “Now, Sherlock.”

That was what Sherlock referred to as his Captain voice. It was very hard to disobey it. 

Sherlock reluctantly picked up his phone and dialed Lestrade’s number. Three rings and then Lestrade answered.

“Sherlock?” he asked, sounding slightly confused. Sherlock looked over at John, who was watching him with his arms crossed.

“I'm sorry I told you to shut up and told you that you were lowering my IQ,” Sherlock said. Confused silence hung in the air.

“Uh, it's okay? You say that to everyone,” Lestrade said. “No harm.”

“Well, some people deserve it,” Sherlock said. “Like Anderson. I'm worried what will happen to others when he's around.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, sounding faintly amused. 

“Goodbye, Lestrade,” he said and hung up. He looked over at John. 

John was massaging his temples and Sherlock knew immediately that something was going to happen. Something not as pleasurable as being bent over his desk.

“I apologized,” he said, waving his phone as if to say “see?” 

“Yes,” John said. “But you still insulted someone.”

“I insult people all the time, John,” he said. John sighed.

“Go to your room,” he said. Sherlock's eyebrow went up.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Go to your room! You're grounded!” John shouted. Sherlock stared at him but started walking to his door. “Wait. Give me your phone.”

Sherlock turned and stared at him.

“You're not serious,” he said. John held out his hand and Sherlock handed it over reluctantly. “What am I supposed to do? You know how bored I get, John.”

“Work on the case,” John said, pocketing the phone. “Now go.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sulked to his room. 

“I'm the world's only consulting detective,” he mumbled, closing the door behind him. “I am not a child. I do not deserve to be treated like one.”

He flopped face down on his bed and groaned into the pillow. He lifted his chin to stare at his headboard as he went over what he knew about the case, which wasn't a lot he realized. 

“I wish I could call Lestrade and ask him about the case!” he shouted. He waited for a moment for a reply but didn't hear anything. He sighed and stared at the headboard again. He decided it was the perfect time to analyze his responses to John's new technique to get him to listen.

He obviously enjoyed it since he sought to receive it again. But how much did he enjoy it? And why?

He thought of John. The anger on his face and they way he had man handled Sherlock into position. Sherlock felt himself flush and he wiggled uncomfortably on the bed. He could hardly think of anything else with that thought in his head. 

“Sherlock! I'm going to get milk,” John called. “If there's an emergency, your phone is in the kitchen. But only if there's emergency!”

Sherlock waited for the door to close before he turned on his back. He knew exactly what the problem was. 

Slowly, he reached down and cupped himself through his trousers. He let out a low moan. It's been ages since he's done this. 

He undid his trousers and arched his back to push them to his thighs. He should really start wearing underwear if this was going to be a regular thing. He didn't think anymore of it before he took himself in hand. 

Pictures of John flooded his mind. John bending him over his desk and pushing his trousers down. John spanking him with his bare hand. John holding him down even when he so desperatly needs to touch him. 

“John,” he moaned as his hips bucked up. He could almost hear John's growl and voice, thick with desire.

“I told you to stop moving, Sherlock,” he would hiss. 

More images flashed before his eyes. John sucking him off in the Yard. John kissing and biting his neck. John, John, John...

“John!” Sherlock shouted as he came. His back arched and he gasped, moving his hand through it. He laid back on the bed, panting. He looked down at himself.

“I should probably clean up before John gets home,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and Kudos welcomed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Sherlock is getting a bit OOC. Please best with me.

“Sherlock, I’m home,” John called as he entered the flat twenty minutes later. He looked around and frowned. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. He put the milk in the fridge and then walked down the hall to Sherlock's room. He knocked on the door and pushed it open when he didn't hear anything. 

Sherlock was lying on his stomach, dead asleep. Only a sheet covered the lower half of his body and his blanket lay crumpled on the floor. He looked so peaceful. If only he was like that all the time.

John stepped into the room and picked up the blanket. As he went to put it on the bed, Sherlock shifted and the sheet dropped lower. John wouldn't have thought anything of it and simply would have pulled it back over his friend if he hadn't seen the discoloration on Sherlock's skin. 

John felt the blood drain from his face as he pulled the sheet back to expose more of Sherlock. Bruises covered his bottom.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, his hand going to his mouth.

“John?” Sherlock asked, pushing himself up on one arm and rubbing his eyes with his other hand. “What are you doing?”

“Sherlock, are those… Did I… I didn't mean to do this,” John said. “I'm so sorry. I should have known…”

“John, what are you talking about?” Sherlock asked, pushing himself up and grabbing the sheet to wrap it around himself. He winced when he tried to sit and that made John feel worse.

“Your bruises,” he answered. “Oh God, Sherlock. I knew I shouldn't have done that.”

“Will you calm down,” Sherlock yawned. “And get out so I can get dressed.”

“Sherlock, you’re hurt and I’m the one that caused it. Let me take a look at it,” he insisted. Sherlock stared at him, going through the possibilities in his head and eliminating the unlikely ones. John would keep acting wouldn’t calm down until he knew Sherlock was alright and wouldn’t let up even if Sherlock insisted that he was okay.

“Fine,” he sighed. 

“Good, now get on your stomach,” John said, rolling up his sleeves. Sherlock suppressed a shudder. “Sherlock, lay on the bed.”

Sherlock laid on his stomach and looked back over his shoulder at John as he moved the sheet to look at the bruises. He winced when he saw them.

“Oh God, Sherlock,” he whispered.

“They look worse than they are,” Sherlock said offhandedly. “I bruise easily.”

“Sherlock, you can’t even sit down without being in pain,” John frowned. “We’re taking care of this now.”

“But John,” Sherlock began. 

“No buts,” John said. “There’s enough butts in this situation. Now put some pants on.”

Sherlock sighed as John left and stood up. He put some pants on and walked into the living room. John was making up the couch with a stack of pillows in the center.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked. 

“We need to elevate it,” John said as he finished.

“My bum?” Sherlock exclaimed, furrowing his eyebrows. John turned to look at him. “And what will we tell people when they come in? What about clients?”

“What do you want to tell them?” John asked, putting his hands on his hips. Sherlock paused for a second as he thought.

“We can’t tell them that you spanked me,” he said. “People will definitely talk.”

“We’ll tell them that you fell,” John said, moving towards the kitchen. 

“That I fell?” Sherlock called as he followed John. “No, we will not.”

“What do you suggest?” John asked, pausing in opening the freezer to glare at him. Sherlock fell silent and then glared. “That’s what I thought. Now, go elevate it and I’ll get some ice.”

“Ice?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yes,” John answered as he wrapped the ice in a towel. “It helps with the swelling.”

“I know,” Sherlock grumbled. “Is all this really necessary?”

“Sherlock, I hurt you and now I’m going to help you,” John said, turning to him. “It’s what people do. They help.”

“I can manage,” Sherlock said, crossing his arms childishly.

“Oh really?”

“A few bruises are nothing.”

“Fine. Let’s see then,” John said, putting the towel wrapped ice in the sink. “I won’t help you. But it will hurt, you know, and just know that you need to ice it and elevate it and go to a doctor if it gets worse.”

“I’m not a child John,” Sherlock snapped. “I know how to care for a few bruises.”

John held up his hands and walked to his desk. He sat down and opened his laptop. Probably going on that blog, Sherlock thought vehemently. He turned and headed towards the shower. He needed a cold shower. 

That night, after his shower, Sherlock stood in front of his mirror. He was turned with his back to it and his neck straining so he could catch a glimpse of the bruises. He saw them, dark against his pale skin and felt himself flush. John had put those there. He turned so he could look in the mirror and frowned, thinking of the reaction John had when he saw them. He obviously wouldn’t react well if he knew that Sherlock got off on it. 

“Oh dear,” he muttered, the only words he could find to express his… whatever he was feeling. He studied himself in the mirror once more before turning and laying on his bed. 

He next morning, John found him on the couch with ice on his bruises.

“Not a word,” he muttered. John shook his head with a smile and went about his day. 

“You're still grounded,” he said offhandedly. Sherlock glared at him.

“And what does this  _ grounding _ entail?” he asked.

“No cases except those provided by Lestrade and no phone or laptop so you can't bug anyone other than me when I'm home,” he stated, looking over his blog.

Sherlock groaned. “And don't try to sneak out. Lestrade and Mycroft are helping me.”

“I am a grown adult. I can not be grounded,” Sherlock said. John looked up at him sternly. 

“You are not leaving this flat, Sherlock. Don't you dare argue with me,” he said in his Captain voice. Sherlock looked away and grumbled to himself. He wiggled on the couch, suddenly very uncomfortable in his pants. Very well, if John was going to treat him like a child, then he'll play along.

“When will be off grounding?” he demanded. 

“When you can properly sit down again,” John answered, not looking up. Sherlock sighed. 

“And what am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“Well, you can't shoot the wall, for one. Maybe read a book.”

“I've read all my books.”

“I'll get you a few more when I go out.”

“When will that be?”

“I don't know.”

“Get them now.”

“No.”

“But I'm bored and I can't do anything else.”

John glared at him and stood up, grabbing a notepad and pencil. He walked over and slapped then down in front of Sherlock's nose.

“Write or draw or something,” he snapped. 

“Write what?” 

“Write a letter to someone telling them exactly what you think of my ‘experiment’.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John sat down.

“Will you be reading it?”

“Not if you don't want me to.”

Sherlock bit his lip and looked down at the paper. He took a deep breathe and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Sherlock is writing will be the next chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

_ I don't know why I'm actually doing this. John could read this at any moment and discover how I feel about the punishments. Then again, writing something down is proven to get it out of you and I need to stop thinking about this. _

_ They excite me. It really shouldn't but something about the knowledge that John can hold me down with one hand is tantalizing. The feeling of him hitting me is almost too much. His voice when I disobey him is enough to fuel sexual fantasies for a lifetime.  _

_ His “captain voice” is what it is. I can almost hear him telling me the things he could do to me. The things I  _ want  _ him to do to me. He could possibly talk me to orgasm with that voice.  _

_ The bruises are another matter entirely. They're a mark, a reminder of what John can do. What I desperatly  _ need _ him to do. The pain they cause serves as a spark that keeps my lust alive, keeps the hunger for him hitting me just under the surface of my skin. It takes all my self control not to beg him to “punish” me again. _

_ Sadly, the fantasy shall end before it has had a chance to begin. John will need do this to me again.  _

_ Unless of course I rile him up again. That would take some planning. It'll have to wait for the bruises to heal as he's obviously treading carefully around me. Once they do, I'll see how far I can push him until he breaks. _

_ This shall be a fun experiment. Already, he seems to be most upset when I insult out friends. I shall have to push this and see how far it extends.  _

_ Until I'm able, I shall carefully plan how to get this result again. _

"Sherlock, I'm going out. I'll grab those books, okay?” John said as he pulled on his jacket. Sherlock looked up. He hadn't even been aware the John had moved.

“Okay,” he replied, looking back down at him letter. He waited until John was gone to turn on his back. His backside hurt but it was bearable. He took a breathe and slipped his hand into his pants.

He stroked himself as he thought of John spanking him again. He vaguely wondered what it would take just to have John bend him over his knee. Or just do it while they were in public when no one was looking. 

Sherlock gasped as these new visuals flooded his mind and his hips bucked as he came moaning out John's name. 

He pulled his hand out if his pants and sighed. He slowly got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, intent on taking a shower.


	5. Chapter 5

It took a week and a half for it the tenderness to leave and another half a week for it to heal completely. Sherlock was completely unbearable those two weeks. John was practically tearing his hair out. Lestrade hadn’t even had a case for them in two weeks. Sherlock came in one day and all but flopped onto his chair. John glanced up from his paper.

“Are you trying to prove a point, Sherlock?” he asked.

“I am perfectly well now,” Sherlock said. “This nonsensical grounding is over.”

“It’s over when I say it is,” he replied. 

“John, say it’s over or I will burn down the flat by the end of the day.”

“Fine. It’s over. Now, can you leave me alone? Find a case or something.”

Sherlock was on his feet and grabbed his laptop, pulling the newspaper from John’s hands and placing it on his lap. John sighed. “Right, okay.”

He opened the website and scrolled through the requests. 

“Uh, missing dog. Was in the house last night and is nowhere to be seen.”

“So easy Anderson could solve it.”

“Okay. Someone is getting stalked.”

“Pathetic.”

“Stolen laptop.”

“Boring.”

“Food poisoned in my own house.”

“Now, you’re just insulting me.”

John snapped the laptop shut and got to his feet. Sherlock stared at him as he put the laptop down.

“You know what, why don’t we just go for a walk? That sounds good and entirely less stressful than a case,” he said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“A walk?” he asked. “Very well.”

He pulled on his coat and followed John out of the flat. The walk, however, didn’t go quite as planned…

“Sherlock Holmes!’ John shouted as he followed his friend into the flat and slammed the door. “You deduced three people to tears and almost got into a fight two times! What on earth have you got to say for yourself?”

“People are much too sensitive,” Sherlock said offhandedly, hanging up his coat and moving to sit on his chair. John looked absolutely furious. Though he loath to admit it, Sherlock thought that angry John was very sexy.

“That’s all you have to say?” John snapped, walking forward until he stood directly over Sherlock. The taller man looked up at him and could only hope he looked indifferent and not like he was ready to jump his flatmate. When he couldn’t find anything suitable to say (that would get the result he wanted) he just shrugged. John was positively bristling now.

“If they don’t want to hear the truth, then they’re not living properly,” he said.

“Not… Sherlock, you machine! You need to realize that not everyone is so untouched by everything as you are,” he snapped, leaning down and placing his hands on the arms of Sherlock’s chairs. Sherlock stared at him, fighting to keep his expression neutral. John was too upset to notice. “Obviously you haven’t learned your lesson. What do you suppose I do about that?”

It was a rhetorical question, Sherlock knew. He also knew the proper response to send John to just the right area of rage.

“I would suggest refraining from attempting to teach me anything in the near future,” he said. John blinked, his slow murderous smile gracing his lips and Sherlock could have cheered as he was pulled to his feet and shoved over the back of the seat. He was forced to kneel on the cushion as John undid his belt. He pinned Sherlock’s hands to his back like the first two times and Sherlock braced himself for the pain. It never came.

He looked over his shoulder to see John glaring at his vibrating phone. He let Sherlock go with a command to “Stay put!” and walked over to answer it.

“Hello, Lestrade,” he said, his voice surprisingly even. “Really? Well, I’m sure Sherlock would love to take a look. Yes. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

He hung up and turned to glare at Sherlock, who’s only movement had been using his hands to push his chest away from the back of the chair.

“You’re so bloody lucky, Sherlock,” he snapped. “Get your coat. We have to go down to the Yard.”

Sherlock was thoroughly disappointed but that quickly disappeared at the prospect of a case. He got to his feet and grabbed his coat and scarf. John was already hailing a cab when he got out of the flat. The drive to the Yard was decidedly quiet and Lestrade was waiting for them. 

“We just need some help,” he said as he led them to the evidence. Sherlock went over everything and turned to face them. He then promptly got in an argument with Anderson. They let it go on for ten minutes before John finally snapped. 

“Sherlock Holmes!” he snapped. Sherlock’s head snapped to look at him and John grabbed his arm roughly. “Greg, can I borrow your office?”

“Uh, sure,” he frowned. John dragged Sherlock into it and sat him in one of the chairs. He closed the blinds so no could see them and locked the door. Sherlock watched him, half turned on and half terrified. John  _ has _ killed people before. 

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” John shouted. “You are the most childish, most immature man I’ve ever met!”

Sherlock didn't answer, just crossed his arms and looked down.This just infuriated John more. He pulled Sherlock to his feet and shoved him over Lestrade’s desk. Sherlock’s eyes widened. Was John seriously going to do this in Lestrade’s office? 

His answer was a very hard smack on his behind. He was thankful John hadn’t put his hands behind his back this time as he buried his face in his arms to keep from crying out. Three in, it occurred to him that John had not taken his belt off. Around five, he realized John was using his hand. At eight, he had to bite his hand to keep from crying out or moaning. He isn’t sure which would be more humiliating. It was around twelve that he realized how upset John really was. At fifteen, John pulled him up and turned him so they were looking each other in the eyes.

“You are going out there and you are going to behave yourself or god do help me, I will…”

He didn’t finish his threat as his eyes widened. His body was flush against Sherlock’s, so Sherlock knew what had given him reason to pause. John stepped back and Sherlock felt mortified.

“John, I…” he began. John held up his hand and Sherlock fell silent. 

“We will finish this case,” he said, slowly and deliberately. “Then we will go home and we will talk about this, understand?”

Sherlock swallowed and nodded.   
“Good. Now, you better behave yourself,” He snapped. Sherlock nodded again, his pants feeling very constricting.


	6. Chapter 6

They solved the case in record time. Sherlock was antsy the entire time. He stuttered over his words and his deductions were slow. He never said a word to Anderson, even when he had to go into his Mind Palace. Finally, it was time for them to head back to the flat.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, staring out the window in the cab. He was too busy thinking.  _ John is definitely going to leave now. He figured it out now and he’s leaving me.  _

_ Oh God, what have I done. I need to convince him to stay. There’s no way he would ever indulge me in this. This is the line drawn in sand and I’ve passed it too long ago. _

They finally reached the flat and they walked up in silence. Sherlock sat on the couch and John paced in front of him. Sherlock watched him for a while before the need to say something overwhelmed.

“John, I…” he began. John held up his hand and Sherlock fell silent, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. He just wished that John would say something.

“You enjoyed it.” John said. It wasn’t a question. Sherlock nodded anyway. John stared at him with his hands on his hips. Sherlock finally looked away and he raised an eyebrow. “Sherlock, look at me when I’m talking.”

Sherlock didn’t move and John grit his teeth.

“Sherlock. Look at me,” he hissed. Sherlock looked up and John sighed. “What am I going to do with you.”

He crossed his arms and studied Sherlock. Sherlock fidgeted under his scrutiny but continued looking at him, just like John told him to. Eventually, John looked away. 

“Tell me  _ exactly _ why you like it so much, Sherlock,” he ordered. Sherlock felt himself flush. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. “Come on, then. If it’s going to continue to happen, i would like to know why it’s so pleasurable for you.”

Sherlock’s brain short circuited at “Continue to happen” and his mouth went on autopilot, something that usually wasn’t very good.

“I like that it’s you. I like feeling you hold me down and being rough,” he said. “I like knowing that you’re strong to keep me still even when I struggle and your  _ voice _ . I never thought it possible to find someone’s voice sexually attractive until I heard your Captain voice. I want you to say dirty things to me and order me around with that voice.”

John regarded him, his arms crossed and face blank. Sherlock felt both frightened and aroused. John took a deep breath. 

“Go to your room,” he finally said. Sherlock blinked. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Go to your room, undress, and lay face down on your bed.”

Sherlock’s mouth fell open and John raised an eyebrow in amusement. He finally got to his feet and walked to his room, his legs feeling like they could barely hold his weight. He reached the room and pulled his clothes off. He got into the bed and remained still, listening for John’s footsteps. Finally, he heard them and he turned his head to see John walk into the room, propping himself on his elbows. 

John walked into the room and his eyes traced Sherlock. He ran a hand up Sherlock’s thigh and Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat. He felt the first slap and he buried his face in his arms as he moaned. Two more followed followed quickly and he muffled a cry by biting his wrist. There was a pause, just long enough for him to relax.

He wasn’t prepared for another smack. He let out a cry and John placed a hand on his lower back. Sherlock could feel the concern through the simple touch.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Keep going,” Sherlock said quickly. John didn’t move and Sherlock gritted his teeth. “Please.”

Another smack. Sherlock’s hips rocked against the bed and he let out a moan as another smack landed. He barely lasted two more before he came, groaning out John’s name. He heard John leave the room and buried his face in his arms. If he was embarrassed or exhausted, he wasn’t sure.    
John came back and Sherlock looked over his shoulder as he sat on the bed, squirting some lotion onto his hand. He didn’t look at Sherlock as he gently applied it to his bottom. A cooling sensation overcame him and he sighed, resting his head on the bed. It was quiet, neither wanting to break the silence. 

John put the bottle of lotion down and looked at Sherlock, who was watching him through half lidded eyes. He looked tired and John placed a hand on his back as he stood up. 

“Get some sleep,” he said, patting his back. Sherlock just nodded and let his eyes close. 

He woke up roughly two hours later and got to his feet unsteadily. He pulled on some pajama bottoms and walked into the living room. John was on his laptop, typing away. 

“Telling the world that Sherlock Holmes likes to be punished?” he yawned. 

“Do you want me to? Should we add exhibitionism to your list of kinks?” John asked, not looking up. Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked towards the kitchen.

“Tea?” he asked. John looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re going to make me tea?”

“I won’t poison it if that’s what you're worried about,” Sherlock said. He hesitated. “It’s just a thank you.”

“A thank you?” John asked, both eyebrows going up. “For… that?”

He made a vague gesture towards Sherlock’s bedroom and Sherlock nodded. He put the kettle on and leaned against the table, arms crossed. They fell into an awkward silence and Sherlock pushed a hand through his hair. 

“John,” he began carefully. John grunted in reply. “This… doesn’t change how you see me, does it?”

“Of course it does,” John replied. Sherlock’s heart fell. 

“Oh.”

“I mean, you’re still the genius that I’m so bloody impressed with,” John said. “And you’re still the annoying sod that I live with and you’re still going to upset everyone who ever comes in contact with you. I just have a new tactic to deal with you.”

“So, I’m assuming that meant nothing to you?” 

“Not gay, remember?”

Sherlock nearly snorted but then went over what had happened. John hadn’t seemed to enjoy it as Sherlock had. He frowned and fixed up the tea, taking a cup to John. He then sat down on his chair with his own cup and sipped it as he thought. 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock was lying on the couch when John came home. He didn’t acknowledge him at all and John assumed he hadn’t moved in quite a few hours. He rolled his eyes and took off his jacket. He made some tea and settled into his chair, allowing himself to relax completely. A mistake with Sherlock in the room.

“John,” Sherlock shouted, sitting up with speed that didn’t look human. John jumped and his still scalding tea went down the front of his shirt. 

“Ow, ow, ow,” he mumbled and pulled the soaked fabric from his skin. He glared at Sherlock, who hadn’t noticed and very calmly stepped over the coffee table.

“This case is surprisingly simple when it comes down to it. The maid hadn't been home and yet the only person she told her plans to not attend work that day was the cook. Of course…” he trailed off as John stood up and pulled of his shirt. 

“For God's sake, Sherlock,” he muttered. “You need to learn how to be conscious of other people.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment before he turned away. He closed his eyes when John couldn’t see his face and tried to banish the image of shirtless John from his mind. Unfortunately, it was very hard when he knew said image was directly behind him. He shook his head and waved his hand in clear dismissal of the idea. 

“A lesson for another day,” he said, his voice an octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat and turned towards the door, still avoiding looking at John. “For now, we need to tell Lestrade that it’s solved. He’ll be pleased no doubt. He’s been losing sleep over this one. Come along, John.”

“Hold your horses. Let me get a shirt,” John said. Sherlock turned to look at him, a decision that he sorely regretted the moment his eyes landed on John. John paused as he passed him on the way to his room and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “You okay, Sherlock?”

“Fine,” Sherlock said, voice cracking. His cheeks tinted red and he cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Go get a shirt. We have to get to the Yard.”

John looked completely unconvinced but he continued to his room, allowing to compose himself. He ran a hand through his hair and down his face. 

_ This is going to ruin me. I need to find a solution to this immediately.  _

“Alright, Sherlock, let’s go,” John said as he walked back out, tugging a shirt over his head. He looked at Sherlock, who seemed lost in thought. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked at him like a man coming out of a trance. He glanced at John’s chest, feeling a surge of disappointment at finding it clothed and relief as he could properly think again. He took a sharp breath through his nose as he averted his eyes. 

“Change in plan,” he said, grabbing his coat and scarf. “I’ll be going alone. You wait here. I’ll bring chinese when I come home.”

“Wait, Sherlock, what are you…” John began but Sherlock was already out the door, moving like a man who was trying to escape. John shook his head in confusion as he moved into the kitchen. Might as well make some more tea since he didn’t have to worry about getting down the front himself again. 

Sherlock was antsy as he sat in the cab. When he reached the Yard, he barely had mind to pay the cabbie before he walked in and straight to Lestrade’s office. He barged in and the DI physically jumped. 

“Sherlock, what the…” he began. Sherlock cut him off as he began to tell him the solution to the case. Lestrade just stared at him with his mouth hung open as Sherlock spoke, his mouth moving at nearly twice the speed it usually did. When he finally stopped talking, there was stunned silence for half a second. “Are you high?”

“What?” Sherlock asked, looking down at him in surprise. “No. Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

He paced back and forth and Lestrade watched him for a few moments. 

“What’s wrong?” He finally asked, making Sherlock look over at him. “You only ever get like this when there’s something wrong. So what is it?”

He saw hesitation clearly written on Sherlock’s face as the man looked down at his hands. He finally moved forward to sit in front of Lestrade’s desk, still looking down at his hands. Lestrade waited patiently for him to say something, knowing there would be no way to get whatever it was out of him by force.

“As you know, I have problems when it comes to… attraction, sexual or otherwise,” he began slowly. He seemed more like a lost kid then an adult at that moment. “And now I seem to be caught in a situation involving such. I find it terribly inconvenient that it muddles my thoughts and makes it so hard to stay focused…”

“This is about John, yeah?” Lestrade asked, making Sherlock look up at him. 

“How did you know?”

“I could tell something was up the other day. You were way too unlike you for there not to be,” he explained. He leaned back and studied the younger man in front of him. “So, what exactly is it that’s going on?”

He was incredibly amused by the scarlet blush that worked its way up Sherlock’s neck and the way he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. He waited for Sherlock to compose himself and give a response, the silence in the room not nearly as suffocating as it should have been. 

“Well, it’s… you see…” Sherlock stuttered, only furthering Lestrade’s amusement. Sherlock stopped and took a deep breath to collect himself. “I’ve recently made a discovery that makes very sexual thoughts overrun my mind. Recently, John indulged me in one of these...  _ fantasies _ but purely because he felt obligated to. He has voiced that does not share my feelings and, yet, I feel as though he.. Might, on some level.” Sherlock paused here, looking up at Lestrade a bit shyly. “And, as you have much more experience with things such as this, I would like to ask your thoughts on the matter.”

Lestrade nodded along as Sherlock spoke, thinking over what was being said and ignoring how  _ weird _ he felt about the entire thing. He considered the problem and hummed for a moment as he thought. 

“I don’t know what to say, honestly,” Lestrade frowned. “I can say though that I don’t think John would have… done that if he didn’t feel like it. Maybe he feels something but he’s just not ready to admit. Give him some time, yeah? You know how stubborn he can be.”

Sherlock seemed hesitant but he nodded and stood slowly. 

“That is very sound advice,” he conceded. “Thank you.”

As he left, Lestrade leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands over face. Maybe he should invite John for a pint. He no doubt has a lot on his mind.


	8. Chapter 8

“Is there a reason you invited me to get a drink?” John asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat next to Greg. “Did Sherlock do something?”

“When doesn't he do something?” Greg said jokingly and John half smiled.

“I'm serious, Greg,” he said. “You seemed lost in thought the entire time here.”

“Right,” Greg muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is about Sherlock but I think we should have a drink before we start this discussion.”

John nodded uncertainly and Greg turned his attention to the glass that was placed in front of him. John looked down at his own glass as he drank from it and then back up as Greg downed half his glass. He blinked and his eyes narrowed.

“What is this about, Greg?” he asked. Greg looked over at him and nodded, turning his body to face him completely.

“Sherlock came to the yard today and he told me about... what you did for him,” he began slowly. He saw the color drain from John’s face and then the doctor drained the rest of his glass as Greg continued talking. “He said that he… wasn’t sure how you felt about it. Thought you were obligated to do it.” He paused here to drink from his recently filled glass. “He seemed pretty distressed. Could hardly get him to get it out.”

“Did he...did he tell you what it was?” John asked. Greg shook his head, lifting the glass to his lips. “Punishment.”

Greg put the glass down and began coughing violently. John watched him for a moment and then patted his back. Finally, Greg was able to compose himself and he looked at John.

“How did you… You know, the less I know, the better,” he said, waving his hand vaguely. “Anyway, I guess I just wanted to ask… how exactly do you feel about it, mate?”

John hesitated, drinking from his glass to buy some time. What exactly did he feel about this? He hadn’t really evaluated it. He had told Sherlock that it did nothing for him but that wasn’t entirely true. He had enjoyed it. Enjoyed, not hurting his necessarily, but the sense of control it brought. After Sherlock had gone to sleep, he’d needed a cold shower. He finally just sighed.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve never really had to deal with anything like this. I’ve never really been adventurous in things like this. The closest I’ve come is a drunk night in Uni.”

Greg nodded. “Maybe you should just, let it rest?” he suggested. “If it happens, it happens. But you don’t have to seek it out.”

John thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Yeah, thanks, mate,” he said with a smile.

“Happy to help,” Greg grinned. “Now then. What do you say that we get drunk off our arses? I think we deserve it, putting up with what we do.”

John nodded slowly.

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” he said, lifting his glass again and clicking it against Greg’s.

So that's what happened. Between one minute and the next, John and Greg drank to their heart’s content. Their speech became less clear and their vision danced before them and all the while they discussed a certain genius.

“I-I don't even understand what's so appealing about it. I'm hitting him. Nothing is even happening,” John said. “Just pain, Greg. Who enjoys pain.”

“I think we're missing the point. You liked it, John!” Greg insisted. “I know you did. Who wouldn't like shutting that arse up.”

John nodded in agreement and downed the last of his glass.

“And it's about time you two fucked. He's been eye-fucking you since you met.”

“We haven't fucked. I just helped him get off.”

“Well you should. The sexual tension is killing me.”

Silence fell between them for several moment and John stood up with determination.

“I'm gonna do it then,” he said. “I'm gonna fuck Sherlock Holmes.”

Unfortunately, the next morning found him waking up with a splitting headache on their couch. He looked around, eyes falling on Sherlock was he walked out with a cup of tea.

“Oh, you're awake,” the detective said in a monotone.

“What happened?”

“You came home, told me you were, and I quote, ‘going to fuck me into the mattress’ and then immediately passed out on the couch before you took off your shoes.”

John blinked a few times and then brought a hand to his head, curling up on his side. He heard Sherlock stand, not looking at him.

“I'm going to the morgue,” he said. “I have a few things I need to do there. Don't wait up.”

John barely looked up after he was gone. His eyes fell on Sherlock's riding crop sitting on his desk and a plan formed in his mind.


End file.
